


tomorrow night

by scepterofstardust



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Chan if you don't let yourself be taken care of i'll throat punch you, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Woojin is just a soft boy who cares, i'm new to skz fic pls be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 21:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepterofstardust/pseuds/scepterofstardust
Summary: “Looking after you, being there, it’s not a chore. It’s not your fault. I would choose this, again and again. Don’t be sorry.”Or, five times Woojin came to Chan's rescue, and the one time he could finally say thank you.





	tomorrow night

When Chan thinks of Woojin, he thinks of bright eyes, a calm smile, and these moments.

 

* * *

 

_One._

 

Somewhere between practice, schedules, and producing their next album, Chan begins to get sick. He doesn’t acknowledge it, of course, because he can’t - the album is due in a month and nothing is quite right. He thinks the others would understand, especially Changbin and Jisung. The weight rests on their shoulders to make things happen behind the scenes. They can’t be lax, not for one second. So when he coughs during a late night recording session, when he has a dizzy spell during dance practice that causes him to mess up the footwork and get scolded by the choreographer, when food becomes less appetizing, he averts his eyes.

 

But, as soon as they submit the tracks for approval, and their schedules thin out, his body takes it as a green light. The first day they have of break, Chan sleeps for most of it, not sure why he’s uncomfortably hot under his blankets when the dorm is cold enough to have all nine of them complaining. He drifts in and out of consciousness until the younger members insist on watching a movie together. By the time it’s finished, it’s past ten pm, and everyone retires to bed. Chan falls asleep again, surprising himself. Normally, he’d be itching to do something productive by now, but all he does is lay in bed.

 

He wakes again a few hours later, but something’s definitely wrong. His limbs feel too heavy, almost to the point where he can’t get out of his bed. He’s burning up, sweat dripping from his skin and chest too tight. Water, he thinks, would be a good idea. Maybe it’ll ease the knot in his stomach.

 

He only makes it to the kitchen. Suddenly, the lights seem much dimmer than they’re supposed to be, and the room is spinning too fast for him to catch up. He tries to grab the edge of the counter as he falls, but only succeeds in knocking a cup onto the floor. He collapses on the tile as it shatters. His head hurts where it hits the ground, and for a moment, he’s sure he blacks out. He can’t tell up from down, or right from left. He’s too exhausted to hold his eyes open for more than a second. He’s not sure if it’s minutes or hours that he lays there, desperately hoping no one’s woken up. He doesn’t want the younger members to see him like this.

 

When he opens his eyes again, Woojin is there. The other boy is leaning over him, pressing a cold washcloth to his forehead. When he notices Chan looking at him, he smiles and sits back on his heels.

 

“Nice of you to join me.” Chan manages a weak laugh. “You definitely have a fever. You’re lucky you didn’t faint on top of the broken glass.” Something that feels like guilt begins in Chan’s stomach.

 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I won’t be this stupid again.” Woojin gives him a dubious look.

 

“If I didn’t know you, I might believe that.” He holds out his arms. “Let’s see if you can sit up. Grab onto me.” Chan takes his hands and lets himself be pulled upright. He squints at Woojin as the room whirls.

 

“Ah, this is bad.”

 

“Do you still feel dizzy?” Woojin tilts his head, evaluating him with worried eyes. “I’ll get you to bed, okay? Come on.” Woojin hauls him off the floor, letting Chan lean on him as they shuffle into the bedroom they share. Chan flops down on his bed heavily. Even their short journey was enough to exhaust him. Woojin stands in front of him and folds his arms. It might have been threatening, except, it was Woojin.

 

“You need to rest for a few days. That could’ve been a lot worse.” Woojin lifts his chin. “Promise me.”

 

Chan flashes him a teasing smile, holding up his pinky. Woojin raises his eyebrows and links their fingers.

 

“I promise,” Chan says, pressing a hand to his heart in mock seriousness. Woojin nods, only looking about eighty percent convinced.

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Woojin tells him as climbs into bed. “Now go to sleep.” Chan flashes him a thumbs up before closing his eyes. It earns him a chuckle in the dark.

 

Chan doesn’t tell him, but he knows Woojin watches over him until he falls asleep. And long after, to make sure he’s okay.

 

_Two._

 

They’re working in the studio together because Chan needs a guide for an upcoming track. He knows Woojin’s voice would be perfect for the tone of the song, so he asks him to help. Woojin sings the notes flawlessly, of course, but there’s something off. The rhythm of the song is drilling into Chan’s brain, the obvious gap where something needs to be becoming a nagging feeling of anxiety in his gut.

 

It’s not right.

 

He knows he can fix it, but the more he hears it, the more frustrated he becomes, and he feels panic working up into his throat. He’d thought the track was finished, but it was imperfect. Unsatisfactory. He sounds unsteady when he asks Woojin to start again.

 

In the middle of the run through, (he doesn’t remember what number it is), Chan shoves his head into his hands, yanking the headset off. The tears start without his permission. His mind is trying desperately to iron out the flaws in the track, but it all seems to be just out of reach. It’s hideous, and now he’ll have to mix it again. He’ll have to stay up even longer. Jisung and Changbin might have to come back, even though he’d sworn to them he could finish this and urged them to rest instead. Hiccuping sobs are escaping him, and it occurs to him that he’s probably horrifying Woojin with his sudden breakdown.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says shakily, but realizes he’s not wearing the mic anymore and he can’t be heard.

 

Woojin silently opens the glass door to the recording booth, padding over to him. He doesn’t make a scene, or ask why Chan is crying. Probably because he knows. (Woojin always knows.) He puts a hand on the back of Chan’s neck and pulls him into an embrace, letting him rest his head on his chest for a moment.

 

“Why don’t we go home?” He suggests calmly. Chan shudders, more tears slipping out.

 

“Can’t,” he protests. “I need-I have to finish this today.”

 

“It’s only one in the morning,” Woojin points out gently. “You have a lot of today left. But you need a break.” Chan has to admit, the idea is tempting, and Woojin looks cozy even in his work environment. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and exercise pants. He wants to go with him, but…

 

“You don’t understand,” he says, voice breaking up. “I have to-I have to fix it. It’s my fault.”

 

“You’re right,” Woojin says softly. “I don’t understand what it’s like to be you. But, I do understand that you’re at your limit. And I understand that you’re not being fair. Are you 3RACHA?” Chan looks up at him, brow furrowed.

 

“What?”

 

“Last I checked, there were three of you. It’s not _your_ fault. You always act like everything falls on your shoulders, especially when something goes wrong. But that’s not true, is it?” Defeated, Chan shakes his head. “You will figure it out, I promise. Everything will be fine. But you won’t be, if you keep pushing yourself like this.” Woojin pats his shoulder, and smiles hopefully.

 

“Please take a break, at least until the sun comes up. I’ll go with you. Okay?” Chan hesitates for a few moments, glancing around at his scattered notes. He’s still warring with a part of his mind, the part that insists that breaks are unforgivable and he’ll regret it later. But Woojin is standing there patiently, waiting for his answer, and Chan longs to see the world outside of the studio, which seems like a figment of his imagination at this point. He nods, slowly.

 

“Okay.” Woojin grins triumphantly, going to grab their coats. Chan stands up, sluggish and full of aches. He stretches, and hears too many parts of his body pop. Woojin grimaces at the sound and drapes his coat over his shoulders.

 

Just like that, they leave the company, the door lock beeping behind them. Once he realizes Chan never ate dinner (or lunch), Woojin takes him to a convenience store to buy food and drinks. They eat it outside on a park bench. They’ve moved far enough away that Chan can no longer see the JYP building, not even the sleepy blue letters that announce its name. A weight lifts from his shoulders, and he lets out a long breath. Woojin looks over at him midbite.

 

“Better?” He asks after he swallows.

 

“Better,” Chan says quietly. Woojin takes the trash out of his hands and walks away in search of a garbage bin. Chan takes a moment to admire their surroundings. Other than the distant rumble of the subway and cars, there’s not much to disturb them here. The wind isn’t too terribly cold, and he closes his eyes in content. For once, he doesn’t need to be doing anything. No one is watching him. Here in this bubble, he doesn’t exist. He’s faceless.

 

When Woojin returns and sits beside him, Chan doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he asks tentatively,

 

“Can we stay here for a while?” He imagines Woojin is looking at him in the dark, the edges of his lips curved upwards.

 

“As long as you want,” Woojin’s voice comes. Chan lets his head fall back, the tension in his muscles draining away. They sit like that until the sun starts to rise.

 

_Three._

 

Chan hasn’t been sleeping enough, plagued by work and insomnia. He doesn’t realize just how bad it is, until he wakes up paralyzed.

 

Chan is supposed to remain calm, he knows that. It allows his brain to fully catch on to the fact that he’s awake, instead of trapping him here.

 

He can’t. It’s too disorienting, waking up without control over your body, and if he’s honest, he’s terrified. He can see shadowy figures standing around the room. There’s one crouched on top of his dresser, several standing over the bed. One is sitting next to him on the mattress, leering at him with crimson eyes. He swears he can feel its breath on his face.

 

 _Christopher,_ it calls to him mockingly. _Don’t you dare wake the others._ Chan flinches away from it, as much as he can. It’s more like a twitch, than any actual motion. Unhelpful.

 

 _Christopher,_ it says again, and this time the voice sounds oddly feminine. Chan can feel tears coming to his eyes, as much as he doesn’t want to make a scene. He can’t help it. The bed dips on his other side, and Chan doesn’t want to acknowledge whatever it is, but he can’t close his eyes. It’s just Woojin. He’s the only thing of color in the room, red t-shirt and gold skin instead of pallid shapes.

 

“Chan?” He asks tentatively. “Are you awake?” Chan can’t say anything, can’t even make eye contact to let him know he’s listening. All he manages is a soft whimper.

 

“You-” Woojin blinks, realization washing over his features. “You can’t move, right?” Unbeknownst to him, one of the creatures has crossed the room to sit on his chest, further restricting his breathing. Chan’s starting to panic, taking in little gasps, trying to see past the monster to Woojin’s face. He can feel wetness on his cheeks, probably tears spilling from his eyes.

 

And Woojin is looking at him, scared, for the first time he can remember. His hands are hovering over him, like he’s afraid he’ll make it worse if he tries to help. Chan wants to tell him it’s okay, to crack a joke so he’ll stop looking so terrified on his behalf. But he can’t. Chan chokes, straining to make his body obey him. Woojin gasps.

 

“No, no, don’t fight it, you’ll hurt yourself,” Woojin says in a rush. He holds Chan’s face in his hands. Although his first instinct is to jerk away, Chan lets himself take comfort in the contact, in Woojin’s fingers that are warmer than his freezing skin.

 

“I need you to focus,” he murmurs, looking into Chan’s eyes. “I need you to help me out, okay? Do you understand?” At least they’re looking at each other now. Chan manages the tiniest movement of his head, what he hopes comes across as a nod.

 

“Chan,” Woojin’s saying, “I know you can hear me. I need you to wake up. It’s not real. Come back.” It’s the first time that Chan’s heard him sound truly unnerved in a situation like this. His chest aches.

 

As he remembers from the last time, it’s as if the creatures can smell weakness. Suddenly, there’s what feels like claws around his neck. He can hear radio static from somewhere in the room as he fights to take in oxygen. The fear must be visible in his eyes, because Woojin leans down, pressing their foreheads together. “Chan,” Woojin pleads, “Chan, come back to me. You can’t breathe like this. Come back.”

 

 _You can’t even protect him, dear_ , a different voice hisses. _Look at him trying so hard to save you. You’re pathetic._ It touches something in Chan that it shouldn’t, something raw and hidden away. He’s sobbing, cries forcing their way through clogged lungs.

 

“Listen to my voice,” Woojin says breathlessly. He sounds like he might start crying. Chan’s heart snaps in two. “You’re dreaming right now, but I’m real. I’m _real_. I need you to focus on me.”

 

Abruptly, it occurs to Chan that Woojin probably knows about as much as he does. He’s not alone in this. (Chan had told him about sleep paralysis once, over breakfast, after he woke up screaming and Woojin had the _11_ of _119_ typed in his phone before he had regained the ability to speak. Woojin had taken it in stride, like always. Chan saw him reading articles on Naver the day afterwards, but said nothing. The swell of appreciation he felt was enough.)

 

“What if I...“ Woojin trails off. “Would singing help?” Chan shudders in a shallow breath, feeling dizzy. _Yes,_ he tries to communicate. He hadn’t thought about it, but in this moment, that’s the thing he wants most. None of his compliments about Woojin’s voice were half-hearted.

 

So Woojin holds him there, careful not to put pressure on his body. He starts singing a ballad, one that Chan distantly recognizes as an artist Woojin likes. His voice washes over Chan, as warm and soothing as always. It invokes a feeling of home, a feeling of, _Wherever this is, I know I belong here_. He’s vaguely aware of his heartbeat starting to slow, the cold dread in his chest loosening bit by bit. His cries wither away into the occasional sniffle.

 

Mid-song, it finally happens. It feels like his lungs have snagged on something, and then, he’s breathing, _really_ breathing, drawing in his first full inhale in countless minutes. Chan’s body seizes, and he launches into an aggressive coughing fit. The sheer force of it has him curling into a ball, clutching his chest. The shadows vanish, retreating to the corner of the room where they belong. Woojin watches it all worriedly. When the coughing dies down at last, Chan looks up at him with a sheepish smile.

 

“I’m...I’m sorry that I woke you up,” he croaks, “It-It usually doesn’t last that long so-”

 

Woojin grabs him in a hug, burying his face in the crook of Chan’s neck.

 

“Chan,” he breathes, voice full of relief. “Chan, thank God.”

 

“I’m okay,” he says automatically. He doesn’t feel as certain as he sounds.

 

“Don’t do that,” Woojin says, distraught. “Don’t pretend nothing’s wrong, _please._ ” His grip on him tightens. From this position, Chan can hear his heartbeat, going way too fast. He can’t bear to think he’s the cause of that. Fresh tears spring to his eyes, and he blinks them away rapidly.

 

“I’m just…” He searches for the right words. “I’m just...a little freaked out, but - I’m okay. Really.”

 

“Are you sure?” Woojin questions, giving him a once over. “Can you breathe alright?”

 

“M’Fine,” Chan rasps, sitting back on his heels. “Sorry. I scared you, didn’t I?” For a moment, Woojin’s still frowning, eyebrows furrowed in concern. But, the clouds lift, and he smiles, shaking his head.

 

“Never.”

 

_Four._

 

It’s one of those days where Chan wakes up, and he can’t go on anymore. Everything feels so heavy to him, even his head when he lifts it to look at the clock. His alarm is ringing, and the sound of it makes dread flare up in him. He can’t today. _He can’t._

 

He can hear chatter out in the kitchen, probably the others starting their day. They’d all agreed to go out for lunch and go to the arcade, maybe even the shopping center. Guilt crawls up into his throat, unwanted, and he pulls the blanket back over his head. He had been the one to suggest going out in the first place, and he wanted to spend time with the others, but he’d probably kill the mood anyhow. It was better to keep to himself.

 

He doesn’t move a muscle, even when he hears Woojin get up and start moving around. He lays there with his eyes closed for a good twenty minutes, until the footsteps suddenly stop.

 

“Um…?” Woojin sounds bemused. Chan pulls his blanket back reluctantly, squinting up at Woojin in the sudden brightness. “You...aren’t dressed.”

 

“No,” Chan says tiredly. Woojin’s eyes narrow, and for a moment he’s just staring at Chan, expression unreadable. He seems to realize there’s something wrong, though, because his face softens.

 

“You’re not coming?” He asks knowingly. Chan shakes his head silently. Woojin trudges across the room to sit on his bed, contemplating him.

 

“What’s wrong?” Woojin questions gently. Chan knows he means well, but it frustrates him. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. Things just...are wrong. _He’s_ wrong. He’s too tired to pretend it’s not happening like he usually would, but he’s also too tired to explain. Even if he wants Woojin to stay, wants some sort of company to keep him from spiraling even further into darkness.

 

“Nothing,” he says, like an idiot. Woojin blinks, thoroughly unconvinced.

 

“I’ll stay here, then,” Woojin says nonchalantly. “For, as you say, nothing.”

 

“No,” Chan protests weakly, feeling sick to his stomach. “You should go and have fun.”

 

“I can go another time,” Woojin says mildly. “I don’t think the arcade will disappear anytime soon.” He kicks off his shoes, and scoots backwards, leaning against the wall. “What are you watching?” On the screen across the room, some random drama is playing. The male lead is sitting at his desk, head in his hands.

 

“Don’t know,” Chan says dimly. He hasn’t been paying attention at all.

 

“Hey, are you coming?” Minho asks from the doorway. Chan jumps in surprise.

 

“No, sorry,” Woojin says kindly, waving him off. “Go on without me.” Minho hesitates, face pinched with what looks like worry, but nods and returns to the main room. A few moments later, the murmurs of the other members are cut off, the door lock beeping to signal their absence. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way, but Chan breathes a little easier, knowing he doesn’t have to avoid everyone, or have awkward, fake exchanges. Usually, he would lay low so nobody would worry after him.

 

And yet, Woojin is sitting on his bed.

 

He stays there indefinitely, only rising to go to the bathroom and to make them lunch, understanding without words that Chan’s too exhausted to participate. Chan spends most of the day trying not to cry, out of frustration and gratitude. He abandons the TV in favor of watching Woojin’s profile, wondering how he can possibly be _this_ patient when Chan hasn’t done anything to deserve it.

 

“Woojin hyung?” Chan finally works up the nerve to break the silence.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why are you here?” Woojin smiles faintly.

 

“Why do you think?”

 

“I don’t really know,” Chan admits quietly. “You should be with them.”

 

“Chan,” Woojin says gently. “You know why.” Chan opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it again. Woojin watches him amusedly. “I’m here for you. In case...I don’t know. In case you need anything. In case you’re lonely, or sad, or any of those things.” Chan struggles to find the right thing to say. Woojin is right, after all. He knows why he’s here. He just wants to be wrong so he won’t feel like a burden.

 

“I don’t need anything,” he says softly. “Just you is enough.” Woojin beams for a moment, and Chan swears his heart is bursting out of his chest.

 

“Then you have your answer,” Woojin replies, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He settles down into the blankets. “Now let me watch TV with you.” Chan laughs incredulously.

 

“Okay, okay. I won’t argue anymore.”

 

“Good.” Woojin’s hair is ruffled now, sticking up over the covers haphazardly. Chan giggles and tries to smooth it, patting Woojin’s head insistently. Woojin wriggles under the blanket, disappearing entirely.

 

“I felt threatened for just a second there,” Chan snorts. “Now you’re acting cute again.”

 

“You should still fear me. Maybe it’s all a disguise,” Woojin says, voice muffled.

 

“Hm.” Chan pretends to think. “I don’t think so. You’re too cute for it to be an act.” Woojin’s arms suddenly stick out, flinging the blanket away from his face. He grins widely.

 

“Did you just call me cute?” Chan fumbles for a moment.

 

“No,” he coughs. “What do you want to watch?” Woojin looks like he’ll keep teasing him for a moment, but he lets it slide.

 

“Whatever you’re in the mood for. Just not something sad, right? I feel like that makes it worse.” Chan blinks in surprise.

 

“Yeah, you’re right, actually. Let’s find something together.”

 

_Five._

 

There are times when Chan is really glad they have security.

 

The crowds at the airport are far bigger than he anticipated, and everyone is pushing and screaming. Even if, physically, no one’s been harmed, their space is limited and he’s watched the younger members almost fall several times. His instincts as a leader are surging, and he just wants out. Anxiety is crawling up through his stomach, making it difficult to focus on anything outside of the chaos. Chan’s really grateful he’s wearing a mask this time, because without it, it would be pretty obvious he was scared. He must look like a deer in headlights.

 

Just then, there’s a sudden push on one side, and he nearly falls right out into the crowd. Woojin catches him by the shoulders and yanks him back in.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks over the noise. Chan can feel his own hands shaking as he tries to wave off his concern. It’s clearly not working. Woojin isn’t someone who easily gets angry. He could snarl on stage, sure, and Chan had glimpsed it occasionally during the competition show. When the CEO left the room, sometimes he could swear Woojin’s eyes followed him, like a target on his back. Sometimes the passivity in his eyes looked like frustration in the right lighting.

 

But he looks angry now, eyebrows furrowing and muscles in his jaw feathering. He reaches forward and grabs the back of Changbin’s jacket. The rapper turns, confusion in his eyes.

 

“Hyung?” He questions, muffled through his mask. “Is something wrong?” Woojin guides him by the shoulders to stand on Chan’s other side, and then they’re moving again, catching up to the others. Woojin leans over to whisper something in Jisung’s ear, and moves behind them quickly. Jisung takes his place, grabbing Chan’s arm and matching his stride.

 

“What’s he doing?” Chan asks Jisung faintly. He feels much better now, in a sea of their members. The crowd isn’t touching him on either side.

 

“He told me to stand here,” Jisung says with a frown. “Was someone bothering you?” Chan turns around for a second, even though it causes him to stumble and he nearly crashes into Hyunjin’s back. Woojin smiles at him like nothing is wrong. His breath catches.

 

_One._

 

Chan’s sitting on their hotel balcony at five a.m. when Woojin finds him, as always. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old tour t-shirt, scrubbing at his eyes. Woojin opens the sliding glass door and steps outside, blinking blearily at him.

 

“You’re up.” He doesn’t sound that surprised. Chan offers a sheepish smile. Woojin huffs out a laugh and sits down next to him.

 

“It’s a nice view,” he says quietly. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, bits of pink and orange eating away at the dark blue sky. Chan nods in agreement.

 

They lapse into comfortable silence, but Chan feels the need to speak up. If he doesn’t say something, he might never say anything at all. Even if he’s terrified to admit what he’s thinking right now, he should do it anyway. What he’s thinking, is that Woojin’s profile is as sharp as ever, but it’s comforting.

 

That he’s beautiful. That he needs him. He has probably always felt this way, but Woojin might not know that. He might not know how much Chan appreciates him. He might not know that his kindness, his patience, and his uncanny knowledge of what Chan feels have flipped the world upside down. While things are still hard, he softens the blows. He protects him, even if all he can do sometimes is witness the wreckage. He provides a strange gray area, where he can be vulnerable even if he doesn’t want to be. He’s too scared to be that way with the others, feeling too much like he’s overstepping his bounds. He might be the leader, but Woojin looks past that in a way he’s never been able to. He’s... _safe_ , in a way nothing has ever been.

 

So, Chan can say this, even if it’s hard. Woojin won’t laugh.

 

“Can I tell you something?” Chan starts. Woojin’s gaze drifts to him, and he smiles reassuringly.

 

“Of course.” For a moment, Chan falters, and the only sound is the wind and the rumble of the city below.

 

“Thank you,” he says past the lump in his throat. “For everything that you’ve done until now.”

 

Woojin looks confused, because of course he does. He’s not aware of his actions because they come naturally to him. Chan knows that much.

 

“What do you mean?” Chan shifts his weight, trying to dredge up what he’d rehearsed.

 

“You...you’ve done a lot for me, maybe even some things you don’t know about. You comfort me when I think I’m alone. And I know that it must be hard, doing that constantly, and...dealing with it all when you probably have your own problems. I feel sorry to you, but...I know you don’t want to hear that. So, thank you. For everything you’ve done.” Woojin’s mouth falls open, and understanding dawns on his face.

 

“It’s not hard,” he says after a moment. Woojin grins at him. “It’s never hard when it’s you. Don’t you know that?” Chan’s heart skips a beat, erratically bouncing around inside his ribs.

 

“When it’s me?” He echoes, puzzled.

 

“I want to help you,” Woojin explains. “You look after everyone else but forget yourself. You’re the kindest, most understanding, most hardworking leader those kids could ask for. Who is going to help you, if you won’t do it? Who’s looking your way when you’re pretending you’re not tired?” Chan feels a sob bubbling up in his chest, and he pushes it down hard. Crying was not part of the plan. “These things aren’t hard, Chan. They’re easy because I care about you. And you’re right. I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. This is my choice. Do you understand that?” He reaches over and takes Chan’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “Looking after you, being there, it’s not a chore. It’s not your fault. I would choose this, again and again. Don’t be sorry.” Chan feels a hundred pounds lighter as he stares back at Woojin, and he knows tears are sliding down his face, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

 

“I’ll try not to be,” he whispers, voice cracking a little. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

 

“I know,” Woojin says softly. “It’s okay. Just because you’re the leader, and you’re older, doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t hurt. I just don’t want to ignore that.” Chan nods slowly. Woojin wipes his tears away with his thumb. “Let go of that guilt a little, okay? Let me help when I can.”

 

“Thank you,” Chan chokes out, eyes cast down. “I-I just don’t know how to accept it, you know? I feel like I need to be doing...something in return. It feels too greedy.”

 

“You exist,” Woojin says. His eyes are playful, but Chan knows he means it. “That’s enough.”

 

“Yeah,” Chan chuckles. “That’s, uh...that’s what people say.” Woojin shrugs.

 

“It’s true.” Chan shakes his head with a small smile.

 

“Anyway, I’m sorry I sprung that on you, I just…” He exhales deeply. “It was bothering me.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Woojin leans back, looking out at the city again. “I’ll tell you again, if you need to hear it.”

 

“Thanks.” Chan squeezes his hand.

 

“By the way, what are you doing out here this early?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Chan confesses. “I just decided to get up because it was already morning.” Woojin pats his shoulder with a mischievous smile. Chan wrinkles his nose in confusion.

 

“Rest on me,” Woojin clarifies. “I don’t mind.” Chan blinks at him, but obliges, laying his head down on Woojin’s shoulder. It’s firm, and comfortable, and before he knows it he’s tumbling into darkness. It’s the sort of sleep that makes every inch of him feel like it’s sinking into the ground, and he hopes he’s not drooling. It’s the most peaceful he’s felt in months.

 

He wakes up to Woojin singing softly, and a faint heartbeat beneath his cheek. There’s a hand wound around his shoulder, keeping him from falling out of his chair. The breeze has gotten comfortably warm, and the sky has exploded into vibrant color. There’s a smell drifting past him that he now recognizes as Woojin’s faded cologne. He’s hesitant to open his eyes at first, too cozy to push away sleep just yet. Eventually, he blinks himself awake.

 

“How long was I out for?” He asks, stifling a yawn. He can’t quite lift his head yet. Woojin checks his phone.

 

“Two and a half hours.”

 

“What?!” Chan straightens, incredulous. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

 

“We don’t have anywhere to be until this afternoon,” Woojin says with a soft smile. “You looked like you needed it.”

 

“How on Earth did you stay still that whole time?” Chan laughs.

 

“Sheer willpower,” Woojin says proudly. “Jisung was the one who nearly woke you up.”

 

“Jisung?” Chan questions, brow furrowed. “He was out here? Did he need something?”

 

“No,” Woojin says with poorly concealed glee. “Check your phone.” Chan pulls it out of his pocket and squints at the screen suspiciously. There’s a message from Jisung. It’s a picture of them, Woojin making a shushing motion and Chan leaning on him with his eyes slammed shut.

 

_Sleep well, hyung :)_

 

Chan can feel his cheeks flushing, and he hides his face in Woojin’s shoulder with a groan.

 

“This is so embarrassing,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

 

“I don’t think so,” Woojin teases. “I think it’s cute.” Chan hits him on the arm, but Woojin just giggles.

 

“You’re so cheesy.”

 

“That I am,” Woojin admits with a grin. “You like it.”

 

“I guess,” Chan sighs. Woojin pats his hair affectionately.

 

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” he offers. “My arm hasn’t gone completely numb yet.”

 

“Should I?” Chan smiles shyly. “Maybe a little longer. Wake me up if the arm needs to be amputated.”

 

“Sure thing.” Woojin’s beaming down at him, and Chan settles in again, closing his eyes against the rising sun. “Rest some more, okay? I’ll be here.”

 

“I know,” Chan murmurs, already fading away. “You always are.”

 

* * *

 

When Chan thinks of Woojin, he thinks of bright eyes, a calm smile, and this: _love._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to chat to me in the comments <3 i love to hear from you guys! this is my first stray kids fic so i'm a little nervous > <
> 
> find me here:  
> @lunatic_yoongi - twitter  
> @stardust39 - curiouscat


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